


you make me smile, please stay for a while

by foggys



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: A whole new world, Alternate Universe - The Office, F/M, More Than 5k AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 04:19:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4862879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foggys/pseuds/foggys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Anyway, was there something you needed?" She's concentrated on her work now, pipetting as she speaks.</p><p>"Uh, no, not really," Fitz says, rubbing his chin absently. "Just wanted to see how you were doing."</p><p>She smiles.</p><p>"So, um, I'll go back now," Fitz says.</p><p>“Yeah. I’ll see you at lunch?” She’s transferring liquid into a tiny PCR tube.</p><p>“Right! Only one and a half hours to go.”</p><p>Simmons groans dramatically. Fitz walks away, and the camera zooms in on Simmons smiling to herself.</p><p> </p><p>A Fitzsimmons/Jim and Pam AU. For the More Than 5k fic exchange on The Fitzsimmons Network.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you make me smile, please stay for a while

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Leopoldfitzsimmons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leopoldfitzsimmons/gifts).



> This is for [ leopoldfitzsimmons ](http://www.leopoldfitzsimmons.tumblr.com) as part of the More Than 5k, A Whole New World AU exchange on The Fitzsimmons Network. She asked for "Jim and Pam from The Office," so I watched six seasons and came up with this. It's a loose interpretation, but I hope it'll suffice.
> 
> Title from "Bubbly" by Colbie Caillat, because I am pop trash.

"Everyone! If I may have your attention please."

The camera focuses on the man standing at the front of the room, right at the ends of the long lab benches. This is Phil Coulson, director of the R&D department of the Shield Medical Company branch in Scranton, Pennsylvania. A balding, middle-aged man in a black suit paired with a striped gray tie, he stands straight, a confident leader before his team of scientists. They've all paused in their work and are watching him now.

"We have a new addition to our staff today. Everyone, this is Lincoln Campbell, our newest engineering lab tech. Why don't you introduce yourself, Lincoln?"

The camera shifts to the tall blond man to the right of Coulson. He glances self-consciously at the camera, then straightens and gives the room a small smile. "Hey. As Coulson said, I'm Lincoln. I majored in electrical engineering in college and I’m hoping to go to grad school soon. This job is a pretty big opportunity for me, and I'm excited to work with all of you." He flashes a bright, disarming grin at the scientists, and the awkwardness in the air dissipates a little.

"We're glad to have you on board," Coulson says, smiling genially. "Skye, could you introduce him to everyone, then show him around the building?

The camera pans to Skye, Coulson’s PA. “Yes sir,” she says, hopping down from the lab bench. Still smiling blandly, Coulson nods to the lab techs and leaves the room.

Skye turns to face Lincoln. “So, almost all the lab techs in this lab are on the same six-month probationary period as you are, obviously except the supervisors, Dr. Weaver and Dr. Gonzales.” She gestures to the opposite sides of the lab, and the supervisors wave. “You met Dr. Gonzales for your interview, right?” Lincoln nods. “Awesome. So this side is where you'll be working, and that's your workstation. We have ten engineering lab techs, including you. Ten pharma techs too."

Skye leads Lincoln up the medical device testing aisle, introducing each technician and rattling off random facts about them. Lincoln shakes their hands and makes a few comments, polite and charming.

After about thirty seconds, the camera shifts away from Skye and Lincoln, now talking to Dr. Weaver, and focuses on Jemma Simmons, one of the pharmaceutical lab techs. She is currently pipetting a tiny amount of clear liquid into three small plastic tubes. Carefully setting the pipette down, she reaches for an unplugged microcentrifuge, but a hand beats her there and grabs it for her. “Hey, Fitz,” she says without looking up.

“How’s the testing going?” the newcomer says. Leo Fitz is an engineering lab tech who works across the room. This is his second visit to Simmons’s workstation today.

“Ugh, it’s the eighth batch I’ve tested since yesterday.” She inserts the tubes into the centrifuge and plugs it in, sets her phone timer, then swivels her chair around to face Fitz. "How's the arm? Prototype number two?"

"We're on final modifications now." He leans on her lab bench with his arms crossed. “Hey, what do you think of Lincoln?"

“It’s a bit early to judge, isn’t it? We haven’t even really talked to him.”

“Yeah, but first impressions.”

“Well, I guess he seems nice. Shield did hire him, so he must be competent. Why, do you feel threatened?"

"Of course not! That’s ridiculous, we're a full four months ahead of him in the probationary period—"

“Are you worried that he’s going to be promoted four months early, take your new job, ruin your life and take your house and car and love interest—”

"Simmons!" Fitz shoves her shoulder, but he's smiling a little. She kicks lightly at his shins, laughing, but her phone timer goes off right then and she straightens to take her samples out of the centrifuge.

"Anyway, was there something you needed?" She's concentrated on her work now, pipetting as she speaks.

"Uh, no, not really," Fitz says, rubbing his chin absently. "Just wanted to see how you were doing."

She smiles.

"So, um, I'll go back now," Fitz says.

“Yeah. I’ll see you at lunch?” She’s transferring liquid into a tiny PCR tube.

“Right! Only one and a half hours to go.”

Simmons groans dramatically. Fitz walks away, and the camera zooms in on Simmons smiling to herself.

—

“What do I think of Lincoln?” Simmons says. “Oh, Fitz asked me the same question earlier. Um, I suppose Lincoln’s nice. He’s working on the prosthetic arms with Fitz and Donnie. I’m sure he’ll settle in nicely.”

“Oh, Simmons told you?” Fitz grins. “Yeah, he’s working with Donnie and me on the arm. It’s the newest design, still the beginning of its trial period, and patient number two is coming in soon. On Wednesday, actually. I’m quite excited. Anyway, Lincoln’s going to be great to work with. I like him.”

“Do I like this job so far?” Lincoln repeats. “Well, I’ve only been here for seven hours, but sure. I've never worked with prosthetics before, and it's pretty interesting. And everyone seems friendly enough.”

“Coulson asks me to take every new staff member around their lab and the building,” Skye says. “I don’t really mind. I get to slack off for an hour and meet all the new people. Especially people like Lincoln, today?” She leans in conspiratorially. “Not gonna lie, he’s cute.”

—

The camera follows Simmons into the small office. It zooms in on the nameplate, which reads “Melinda May, Human Resources Manager,” then zooms back out.

May gestures for Simmons to sit. The technician does so with a bright smile. “Good morning, May!”

“Good morning.” May clicks around on her computer for a second. “We’re here, of course, to talk about where you’re going after your probationary period ends.”

“Oh, yes, I’m quite excited.”

“Good. As expected, we will be promoting you to a pharma scientist.” May consults her computer. “There are three openings: here in Scranton, at Stamford in Connecticut, and at Buffalo in New York. You’ll be working on different projects, but salary differences are minute and can be negotiable. It’s entirely up to you where you want to go."

"Oh!" Simmons says, blinking. “Um... When will I have to decide?”

“You will have until your second-to-last Friday to contact me.”

“And do you have details on the specifics of each position?”

“Yes. I could go over them right now or email them to you.”

Simmons looks at May, who is staring back expressionlessly, and hesitates. “I’ve actually got an experiment going on right now? Yes, an experiment! With a time restriction. I would prefer to have the information emailed to me. If — If you don’t mind, of course.”

May looks amused. “I’ll send it. Thanks, Simmons. When you go back, please tell Kara Palamas to come in.”

“Will do!” Simmons says. “Thank you!” And she backs out of the room.

—

“I have been here four-and-a-half months now, so in one-and-a-half months I’ll be promoted from my probationary lab tech status to a real pharma scientist position. I’m looking forward to it. The work is going to be more interesting and closer to what I actually want to do.” Simmons sighs softly. “To tell you the truth, though, I was kind of hoping to work in the New York branch. It’s right near New York City. You know, big city, chance to explore the world and have my choice career, all that. It’s New York. There’s rarely an opening there, though.” She shrugs. “I’ll put in another application to transfer there, and until then, I guess I’ll go wherever Fitz goes.”

—

“Show me the arm,” Simmons says, hurrying around the end of Fitz’s lab bench.

“Here is the arm!” Fitz says with a little flourish.

“You said it’s myoelectric?”

Fitz carefully picks up an electrode, gesturing enthusiastically with his other hand. “Yes. These EMGs are placed on the shoulder and chest, and the computer translates the muscle contractions into specific movements. So far there are fifteen different movements the arm can do, and obviously we’re working on more.”

Simmons prods at another set of EMG electrodes. “Where do these go? On the legs?”

“Yeah, ankles. The movements are more intuitive for the user and it takes less time for them to learn.”

“Marvelous!” She goes closer to the arm and examines the silicon-and-metal hands. “The finger joints can all be controlled?”

“Only the PIPs and MPs,” Fitz replies, tapping the respective joints. “It can make a fist and pick up fragile things. Grapes, peanuts, eggs, you know.”

“We are working on the DIPs though,” calls another voice. Antoine Triplett, one of the main engineers on this project, comes into view, carrying a large box. “Hey Fitz, Jemma. Where are Donnie and Lincoln?”

“Both at lunch,” Fitz replies.

“How are you?” Simmons asks Trip. “I haven’t seen you in a few days.”

“I’m great! Just coming down to give Fitz the mold for prototype three. And to look at this beauty again before the patient comes in.” Trip sets the box down on the counter and touches the prosthetic arm reverently. Fitz does the same.

“I’m so envious that you’re working on something as important as this,” Simmons says, leaning back against the lab bench. “All I’ve done in the past week is test blood samples and cut up DNA.”

“You picked the wrong major, girl,” Trip says.

“In another six months, I’ll be the one saying that, thank you very much,” Simmons retorts indignantly.

“Hey, you’re the one who complained.” Trip skims his fingers over the gleaming silver forearm, fussing with the wrist joint.

“She’s so difficult to deal with, honestly,” Fitz adds. He hands a cloth to Trip to wipe off his fingerprints.

“Psh, like you’re any better." She rolls her eyes.

“Hey!” He straightens indignantly. “Pretty sure I don’t complain nearly as much. Always pharma this, pharma that, blah blah blah—-”

“No, you’re the one who keeps coming to my workstation, complaining that your work is so boring, you never get to develop anything—”

“Guys,” Trip says, and they pause, fondly exasperated. “I haven't even known you that long but coming down here is like the best part of my day. You two are like an old married couple — totally platonic, obviously, not making any assumptions."

The camera focuses in on Fitz’s face as it falls, but he quickly ducks his head down to mess with one of the metal fingertips. “Is that a compliment?” he asks at the same time that Simmons says, “We’ll take it as a compliment.”

Trip raises his eyebrows. “It is a compliment, and you should be taking it as such.” He glances at his watch and starts to back away. “By the way, Fitz, I emailed you the specs for prototype three.”

“Thanks, Trip. See you later,” Fitz says. To Simmons, he continues, “Lunch?”

“Yeah. Hey,” Simmons calls to Trip’s retreating figure, “Fitz and I are going to that new pizza place for lunch. Do you want to come with us?”

The camera quickly moves to Fitz, whose mouth drops open in dismay.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Trip answers, holding out the box. Fitz looks relieved. “I want to send this out before they leave this afternoon. Another time?”

“Alright! See you soon!” To Fitz, “Shall we go?”

“Yep!” Fitz looks cheerful as he collects his jacket. “So, tell me about what you’re working on.”

“Oh, nothing nearly as interesting as the arm..." The camera slowly zooms out, following the two as they walk out of the lab, gesticulating and bumping shoulders.

—

"Fitz and I met in freshman year of college,” Simmons says. “We had both skipped a grade, and we were two of the twelve seventeen-year-olds at the university. We were in different majors and I didn’t know him very well. Actually, I thought that he disliked me. In sophomore year, my lab group was researching the metabolic pathway of dendrotoxin, possible medical usages, you know. Fitz’s group was working on drug delivery nanorobots, and they happened to be using dendrotoxin as well. Our groups worked together sometimes and I got to know him a lot better, and we just clicked. We didn’t work together at school that much, not officially anyway, but he’s the best lab partner I’ve ever had.”

“Simmons and I met in college,” Fitz says. “I always felt like we always had the potential to work well together, but I was quite shy back then and didn’t know how to talk to her. Thankfully, we were able to work together during our sophomore year, and, well, she’s my best friend now.” He smiles wryly at the camera. “My best friend. Yeah.”

—

“Hello, May,” Fitz says as he enters the small office.

May nods and gestures for him to sit. “As you know, we’re here to talk about your position here after your probationary period ends.” Fitz nods attentively. “Due to the retirement of several engineers last year, we have a number of engineering positions available at several of our locations.” She switches tabs on a spreadsheet. “There are open positions here, and at Stamford, Utica, and New York.”

“New York?” Fitz repeats.

“Yes, at headquarters. You would be interested in that?” May makes a quick note on her spreadsheet.

“Yeah, I would.” He pauses, rubbing his chin. “Um, exactly what do each of these jobs entail?”

“I have the job descriptions here, and I can go over them right now.”

“That would be great, thank you.” Fitz sits up straighter in his chair.

May nods to him and glances up at the camera. “It’s company policy that this conversation be confidential, if you’ll excuse us. Thank you.”

The camera-person backs out of the room and the door shuts. The camera films Fitz and May through the glass doors for a few more seconds, then turns off.

—

The camera, clearly having been waiting, zooms in to Fitz as he comes out of May’s office. The man in question jumps, startled. “Hello.”

He starts back down the hall, but when the camera continues to follow him, he turns back. “Um, you’re not going away.”

Trained on his face, the camera holds still.

“I suppose you want to know where I might go? Well, like May said, many of the details are confidential. So I can’t tell you much about what I might be doing.”

The camera still doesn’t move away. Fitz scowls. “Well, what do you want to know?” He watches the camera-person for a few seconds. “Oh, where I might be going?” He rubs his chin. “I’m not sure. There are some openings in a lot of the branches. Obviously, going to HQ in New York would be a great opportunity, but I really like the people in the engineering department here. And obviously, Simmons and I have been planning to at least work at the same branch, if not together in the same lab. So I guess we’ll see.”

—

“So, Lincoln,” Skye says during a conversational lull at lunch. The six of them are seated around two circular tables in the second floor break room. Fitz and Simmons are sitting together, splitting a sandwich and a bag of cookies. Trip and Mack, another engineer, sit on either side of them, while Skye and Lincoln are at the other table.

“Yes, Skye?” Lincoln answers, looking amused.

“You have been here a week, but we still don’t know that much about you.” She leans forward to rest her elbows on the table. “Tell us about yourself.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Well, what do you want to know?”

Skye shrugs. “Anything. Favorite movies, favorite book—”

“—Harry Potter house,” Simmons chimes in, “favorite Doctor, um…”

“Patronus, pancakes or waffles,” Trip finishes. Simmons grins up at him. He grins back. Fitz scowls and huffs into his sandwich.

“That’s a lot of questions,” Lincoln finally says.

Skye smirks. “Answer ‘em.”

“Well, Inception and the Sherlock Holmes books are great.” Heads nod in agreement. “Favorite Doctor is Ten, no idea what my Patronus would be, and I’m a Ravenclaw.”

“Ravenclaw!” Simmons says and reaches over to high-five Lincoln.

“Gryffindor!” Trip says in response, high-fiving Skye and Fitz. The camera stays on Fitz for a few more seconds, catching his brooding expression.

“And the last question isn’t even a question. Pancakes.”

Skye’s eyebrows shoot up. “Whoa, what? Everyone should love waffles.”

Lincoln shrugs. “It’s not that I don’t like them, I just like pancakes better.”

“That is unacceptable!” Skye’s phone lights up with an alarm. She silences it and stands up. “You know, you are really lucky that Coulson has a meeting and I have to be there. I am so ready to fight you.”

Lincoln grins lopsidedly at her. “Looking forward to it.”

“Seriously, Lincoln, I cannot believe you.” Skye waves at the group from the doorway. “Alright, see you guys later.” The door shuts softly behind her.

—

“Lincoln is a really fun person,” Skye says. The camera goes alongside her as she speed-walks toward the staircase. “I would love to get to know him better. But really, what kind of person doesn’t like waffles?”

“Skye’s pretty cool,” Lincoln says. “She’s so funny and outgoing. It’s nice to be around her.”

“I always ask new people about pancakes versus waffles,” Trip says. “Skye is really passionate about waffles.”

—

The camera films through open blinds of the break room window. Fitz and Simmons’s cups of tea are on a circular table and two adjacent chairs are pulled out, but neither is sitting there. Simmons is perched on top of another table, legs crossed. Fitz is pacing slowly in front of the vending machines, hands on his hips. He isn’t looking at Simmons.

They are talking too quietly for the camera to pick up what they’re saying, but as it continues to film them, Simmons braces herself on the table edge and leans forward. Whatever she says makes Fitz stop pacing and finally turn to her. He replies, letting his arms swing down to his sides. For a drawn-out moment, neither moves. Then Simmons appears to steel herself, sitting up straight and uncrossing her legs. She holds out her hand, he grasps it, and finally he cracks a smile.

—

“There’s an engineering position up at HQ, and Fitz is qualified,” Simmons says. “I’ve been trying to persuade him to take that job. Sure, we had planned on working together, but we’re in totally different departments and there’s no guarantee that we’ll work together here. Besides, the HQ job is a good position. Plans change as opportunities change, and I think it would be really valuable for him to move up there.”

“You’re asking me again?” Fitz scowls. “I don’t know. There are a lot of options, and I haven’t had a chance to evaluate all of them.”

—

A cheer erupts from the third-floor engineering lab as Mike Peterson, recipient of prosthetic arm number two, picks up a cherry tomato and successfully transfers it to his mouth.

“That’s thirty for thirty!” Trip cheers. The camera pans to the open containers of strawberries, grapes, raw eggs, and other small objects of various textures all laid out on the lab table.

Mack high-fives Peterson’s other hand. “You are good to go, Mr. Peterson, and we’ll see you next week.”

“Guys, thank you so much,” Peterson says, flexing his new hand. Fitz and Donnie stare rapturously at it. Lincoln grins.

“Thank you, your signing up for this program has really helped us develop this technology,” Mack says. Someone’s watch chirps, and the camera swings to a clock on the wall. It is 12:30 pm. “Let me walk you out.”

The group of engineers — the only ones still left in the room and not at lunch — files toward the doorway. Fitz and Trip are at the end of the line, and the camera is getting ready to follow them out when Trip grabs Fitz’s arm. “Hey, man, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

Fitz looks up. “Of course, go ahead.”

Trip looks pointedly at the camera, which turns toward the exit, then quickly ducks behind a lab bench and films through the shelf.

“Okay, this might sound a little awkward.” Trip pauses here, rubs his face. “Uh, is Jemma seeing anyone?”

“Uh...what? Jemma? Seeing...anyone?” Fitz repeats.

“Yeah. Is she?”

“Um. No, no she’s not.” Fitz looks very apprehensive. “Why exactly are you asking?”

“Because I’m planning to ask her out soon.” Trip breaks into a grin. “Thanks, man! Okay, don’t tell her. I know how close you guys are. And if she says yes, I promise I won’t interfere with your friendship. Alright, see you later!” Trip slaps Fitz on the back and exits the room.

The camera swivels back to Fitz, hands still in mid-air and mouth open.

—

“Yes, I did say yes,” Simmons says. “It’s been a while since I’ve dated anyone, and Trip is a really nice person. And — don’t tell him I said this — but he has a nice body, a symmetrical face, you know. Obviously he’s intelligent, given that he helped design the prosthetic arm.” She pauses, considering the cameraperson. “Wait, he asked outside of work. You weren’t there. How did you know?”

“Simmons is just my friend, and obviously it’s not up to me to police who she dates.” Fitz throws his hands up. “I wish it didn’t have to be Trip, though. On the surface, he seems nice and intelligent and capable and whatnot, but deep down, he is really a bit of an arse.”

—

“Hey, Jemma,” Trip says, heading down the row to her station and bumping her shoulder. “Ready to go?”

“Just a second, let me send this report,” she replies, typing quickly into her laptop.

“Okay, I’ll wait.”

“Of course you’ll wait. You can’t leave without me, we have reservations.”

Trip laughs. “Third date,” he announces to the camera.

“It’s been a week and a half,” Simmons adds, closing her laptop and sliding it into her bag. She stands up. “I’m good to go.”

“Awesome. See you guys on Monday!” They wave to the camera. Simmons turns back around and calls, “Bye, Fitz!”

At his station, Fitz is determinedly testing a box of batteries, poking at each with more force than necessary.

“Hey, Fitz,” Simmons calls again, not having received a reply, “I’m leaving now!”

He scowls, prodding at a battery so hard that it rolls away. “I’m very busy, Simmons,” he snaps, setting down the battery tester and slamming his palm over the runaway AA cell. It rolls between his fingers and drops off the edge of the table.

“Fine,” Simmons says. “See you tomorrow, then.”

Fitz grunts, ducking under the table to retrieve the battery. Trip and Simmons cast a final wave at the camera, then head out the door. Fitz hits his head on the way back up.

—

The door flies open, and the three people in the third-floor engineering break room glance up briefly. When they see who it is, Mack the engineer and Bobbi Morse, who works in human resources, look back down at their game. Only Lance Hunter, also in HR, says something. “Hey man, what’s up?”

Fitz ignores him. “Mack or Bobbi, can I play after you?”

“Nothing much, how are you?” Hunter mutters. “I’m fine, thank you for asking.”

“Hunter, shut up,” Bobbi says, hitting pause. “What’s going on, Fitz?”

“Nothing! I just want to play.”

“It’s all yours.” Bobbi vacates the spot in front of the small TV and hands Fitz her controller.

“Thanks.”

Mack and Fitz play in silence for a few moments. Bobbi swipes Hunter’s soda. Disgruntled, he pulls out a crumpled one-dollar bill and tosses it at her face. She pockets it and takes another drink of his soda.

In an alleyway, Fitz’s character rams into Mack’s several times. Huffing impatiently, Fitz smacks the buttons on the controller, but only succeeds in making his character run into the wall. “Whoa there, Turbo,” Mack says, pausing the game. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

“No, everything is wrong,” he complains.

They wait for him to continue. He doesn’t.

“This is a helpful, enlightening conversation,” Hunter mumbles under his breath. Bobbi smacks him in the back of the head.

“I don’t want to press, but there are only a few possible things that can be bothering you right now, and if this is about Simmons, you should just tell her,” Bobbi finally advises.

“This isn’t about Simmons, it’s about where I’ll be going when this probationary period ends,” Fitz grouches. “Am I supposed to go to New York without Simmons?”

Bobbi exchanges a look with Mack, and the man starts, “Turbo…”

“And even it was about Simmons,” Fitz continues, ignoring Mack, “what am I supposed to say? ‘You’re dating a presumptuous asshole’?”

“Hey, Trip is our friend,” Bobbi says sharply.

“Sure, he’s your friend. No offense, but I don’t see what’s so great about him.” He forcefully punches the button to unpause the game. Mack dutifully picks up his controller and continues to play.

“Trip’s dating Simmons?” Hunter whispers to Bobbi over the sound of the game.

“Yes, where have you been?”

“No, I meant, it really is a major douche move if he knows that Fitz likes Simmons and—”

“He doesn’t know.”

“Oh. Damn.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, what’s he going to do about it? He can’t go around being this upset all the time.”

“I don’t know. Of course he should say something. He’s obviously not going to get over her anytime soon.” Pensively, she looks over at where he’s repeatedly firing a machine gun at two soldiers about an arm’s length away from his character. “Then again, he’s kind of horrible at handling emotions.”

—

“Yeah, it’s going pretty well,” Simmons explains. “It’s two weeks since our first date — two weeks exactly, actually — and while it’s nothing serious yet, I really enjoy his company.” She pauses, listening to the cameraperson. “Oh, we’re not sure yet. I still think Fitz should go to New York, but that’s ultimately up to him, not me. There’s still a month for us to figure this out.”

 

* * *

 

The elevator door opens to Trip and Simmons, their hands linked and swinging. “See you at lunch, Jemma.” He mutters something else in an undertone, and she laughs.

“See you, babe,” she says, and they kiss briefly. She lets go of his hand, steps out the elevator, and the doors slide shut.

—

“I’ve decided to stay in Scranton after my probationary period ends,” Simmons says. “There are a number of reasons: I have a great apartment here, this branch does a lot of interesting pharma research, I know and like the people I’ll be working with. Fitz is staying here too. I’m so excited about projects where I’ll get to work with him! Just imagine what we’ll come up with, when we have so many resources available!” She beams. “Oh, and Trip is here too, which is quite a benefit.”

The cameraperson asks something.

“Yeah, I guess our relationship is pretty serious,” she answers. “We’ve been dating for a month and a week. I’m very happy with our relationship.”

A muffled curse comes up from the parking lot below, and the camera films through the window to where Fitz is slamming his car door and sprinting into the building.

“Oh, the funny thing is, Fitz isn’t very happy with our relationship, and for good reason, too.” The camera hurriedly flies back to Simmons, who continues, giggling obliviously, “He’s lost his carpool to and from work.”

—

Carrying a sack lunch, Fitz strolls jauntily down the hallway toward the break room. Pausing at the entrance to the room, he waves the paper bag cheerily at the camera. “Simmons made lunch for me this morning. My favorite: prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella, with just a hint of pesto aioli. It’s the most delicious sandwich in the world.”

The camera moves away from him and starts filming through the window into the room, where Simmons and Trip are pressed together on the couch, watching something on Trip’s tablet. Fitz follows the camera, glancing in through the window. As they watch, Simmons leans her head on his shoulder and his arm tightens around her side.

The camera slowly focuses on Fitz, whose mouth is hanging open. After a few moments, he snaps it shut and announces to the camera in a monotone, “I actually have quite a lot of work to do. Here, you can have it.” He shoves the paper sack at the cameraperson and sets off down the hallway at a fast clip, in the opposite direction as his lab.

—

The camera follows.

—

Fitz eventually stops in front of May’s office and knocks. His foot jiggles impatiently on the carpet.

“Come in,” May calls.

“I’m so sorry to bother you during lunch,” he starts, but she cuts him off.

“It’s alright, I’m working. How can I help you?”

“I, uh. Um.” He starts to enter the room, and the camera makes to follow. He turns back around, shaking his head almost imperceptibly. The camera retreats.

The door shuts.

 

* * *

 

The two long tables in the conference room are piled high with pastries. Shield scientists mill around the room, paper plates of cake and brownies in their hand, laughing. Pop music plays softly in the background.

Simmons catches sight of the camera and waves energetically. “It’s the last day of our probationary period! On Monday, I’ll be working here for real!”

“Huge change,” Trip adds, his arm around her shoulder. “You’ll be moving up two floors.”

She leans away, shooting a mock glare up at him. “It is a big change! My position will be so different. I’ll no longer have to do PCR three hours a day, I’ll actually be researching, my salary will go up…”

“Yeah, yeah.” Trip smiles down at her. “I’m proud of you.”

She looks back at the camera. “Go enjoy this party! It’s for you, too!”

The camera lingers on them for another moment, but they’re too busy leaning into each other to look back.

—

The technicians’ lab is empty, all the techs having gone to the party downstairs. Only Fitz remains, moseying slowly down the aisles and peering at each lab station. He stops at his own, running his hands over the half-built prosthetic arm. This is prototype number five now.

The camera films discreetly, tucked behind a shelf of glass beakers.

The door opens quietly, and Simmons comes in. “Fitz?”

“Hey,” he answers without looking up.

“I thought I’d find you here.” She starts down the aisle toward him. “Why aren’t you downstairs?”

“I wanted to see this lab again.” He fingers the silver joints of prototype number five. “Guess I’ll never get to meet Mr. Barnes.”

“Well, we’ll just be back on Monday. There are plenty more opportunities to see this lab again.” She reaches him and peers at the arm. “Besides, aren’t you going to be working on this project? With Trip? Won’t you get to meet Mr. Barnes when he comes in for the arm fitting?”

“No, I won’t.” Fitz is looking down now, fingers tracing a crack on the black lab table.

“Well, what do you mean?”

He finally meets her eyes. “Simmons, I’m moving to New York.”

She gapes at him for a full five seconds, then bursts out, “What? Why are you moving?”

“You were the one that said there were wonderful opportunities there—”

“Yes, and there are, and I’m glad that you’ll be exposed to those opportunities, but Fitz! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I’m in love with you!”

The room goes still. They hold each other’s gaze, the air petrified between them. He’s the one to look down.

At last, she whispers, “Oh, Fitz…”

“I’ve been in love with you since junior year but I couldn’t find the courage to tell you," Fitz says, the words spilling out over each other. He spreads his hands over the edge of the lab table, clutching it tightly. “And by the time I did, you were already dating Trip. I know how happy you are with him, and I don’t want to stand in the way of your happiness. I just need a break, to — to get over myself. Jemma, I’m sorry.”

He leans forward and embraces her. Her head drops onto his shoulder, and she squeezes him tightly. But just as quickly as it began, it’s over, and he breaks away.

“I’m so sorry, Jemma,” he says again, retreating down the aisle. Simmons stares at his back, making no move to follow him.

He reaches the door and glances back. Their eyes meet.

The door shuts.

The camera points back at Simmons, stricken, standing alone in the wide, empty lab.


End file.
